


No Memory of the Sky

by azephirin



Series: Charleston [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1000-3000 words, 1000-5000 Words, Charleston, Cohabitation, Comfort, Cuddling and Snuggling, Established Relationship, Food, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Text Messages, muppets - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows better than to ask directly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Memory of the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a 'verse; the other stories are [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/2191/). Title and cut text from the poem "[Slumber-song](http://www.bartleby.com/137/26.html)," by Siegfried Sassoon.

Chris walks through the front door of the house to hear a cartoonish voice declare, "I am not a shrimp! I am a king prawn!"

He's tired, but he's sure he didn't hallucinate that. Pretty sure, anyway.

He goes through the doorway into the living room to see Dean sprawled on the couch. Some sort of puppet program is on the flat-screen; one of the characters looks vaguely shrimplike (although with gun holsters?), so Chris guesses that must be the shrimp and/or king prawn. A look over Dean's shoulder betrays that he's eating Cool Ranch Doritos—Chris makes a face—and drinking a Corona. "What are you watching?" Chris asks, trying not to sound too baffled.

"_The Muppet Show_. You've never seen this one?"

"I've never seen _The Muppet Show_."

This is enough to make Dean put down the Doritos and beer, pause the DVD, and turn to stare at Chris. "Did you grow up in Soviet Russia or something?"

"I grew up in this house. Which you know. My sister and I weren't allowed to watch TV."

"I know your parents were strict about that," Dean says, "but not ever?"

"We watched the _MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour _as a family. Anything else, we had to get special permission."

"So you didn't come home from school and turn your brain off for a while?"

"We practiced our music or did our homework. And since when do you own a _Muppet Show_ DVD that you're watching at two in the morning?"

This question, apparently, strikes at the heart of the issue, because Dean turns back around. "Bought it on my way home," he mumbles.

Dean worked noon to eight today; on his way home was a while ago.

Now that they're at different hospitals, neither of them necessarily knows what the other sees on a daily basis. The medical community in Charleston is pretty small, so things like the bus accident that got helicoptered into MUSC (Medical University of South Carolina, where Chris works) and the gang shoot-out that wound up at Charleston Memorial (brought in by Dean's team—he is absolutely fearless about those situations) get passed along the grapevine of cell phones and BlackBerries, but Chris doesn't remember hearing about anything today.

He knows better than to ask directly, though.

"You had anything for supper besides beer and Doritos?" Chris says instead.

Dean looks at the bag of Doritos like he's thinking that one over; then he says, "No. But it's my third bag of Doritos."

Chris manages to swallow a grunt of disgust. "Why don't I get us both something to eat," he suggests. "I'm pretty hungry, too."

Dean doesn't argue, and Chris finds some leftovers from the chicken they barbecued night before last, and microwaves some frozen vegetables to go with it. Dean will, pro forma, complain about the vegetables, but he'll eat them if they're on his plate and the only other option is to actually have to get up off the couch and get something else.

When Chris was growing up, this room was formal, called a living room but better described as a receiving room. They used it only for entertaining or greeting guests, and Chris can think of very few occasions other than those times when he went in it. Most of the original furniture is still here, but now there's an enormous television, and a sofa that's actually comfortable, and Dean Winchester lying stretched out on that sofa.

Chris likes it better his way.

It still feels vaguely blasphemous to eat in here, and even though he knows his mother won't come after him with a wooden spoon if he spills something, the vigilance has been ingrained into him over all these years. When they're done eating, he licks the remains of the sauce from Dean's fingers, and Dean smiles, but nothing more. Chris puts their plates on the floor and nudges Dean until Dean's leaning back against him. They watch the Muppets, who are ridiculous, but funny.

"How did you get to be a fan of this?" Chris asks after a while.

"Used to watch it with Sammy. They weren't making it anymore by the time we were around, but it was syndicated everywhere—pretty much anyplace we lived had _The Muppet Show_ on some channel or other. And they made a bunch of movies, too, and those were always on a lot."

They lie there for a while until Chris feels Dean's body relax, and he feels himself start to drift into sleep. He kisses Dean's temple. "It's really late," Chris says. "We should get to bed."

Dean doesn't argue. Chris makes the executive decision to leave the plates where they are (much as he can hear the sound of his mother shrieking in the back of his mind), and they go upstairs. While Dean is brushing his teeth, Chris sends a covert text message to Elspeth, one of his colleagues—she was coming on right as he left, and her husband works at Memorial. _Anything crazy come into the Mem ER today?_

The response comes almost instantaneously; Elspeth loves her iPhone. _the usual; also some burn victims. pretty fucked-up. dude lit ex-wife's house on fire w/ her &amp; kids in it. she died en route, kids alive afaik but critical._

Then, almost as soon as Chris finishes reading it, another message: _oh shit. did dean bring them in? joe didn't say who emts were._

Chris answers: _Yeah, pretty sure that was his. Thanks for the info. Hope it's quiet tonight._

In bed, Chris settles himself behind Dean, arms around him. Dean typically complains about being the shorter one, but right now Chris is glad of his couple extra inches in height, just enough to let him draw Dean completely against him, warmth shared under the soft cotton of the sheets and the light blanket. "You want to tell me about it?" Chris says after they've been lying in the quiet, close dark for a few minutes.

There's a pause, and then Dean exhales. But he says only, "It's worse when it's kids. And this time it was their mom, too."

Chris strokes his hair, kisses the back of his neck. "Yeah," he says, "I know." He'll ask Elspeth for the details, or it may hit the paper, but in the meantime, Dean's said all he needs to, and Chris knows all he needs to. He wants to say "I'm sorry," but that doesn't really cover it: Dean knew what he was getting into as an EMT, just like Chris did when he became a doctor. They've both seen horrible things before (Chris's list entirely medical, Dean's recently medical but mostly supernatural), and without a doubt they'll see them again. Chris wants to say "I love you," but that's something Dean's not very good at hearing, and anyway he already knows it.

"Go to sleep," Chris whispers, and Dean's hand finds his, and he does.


End file.
